


Shatter

by lockandloadharley



Category: The Last of Us
Genre: Apocalypse, Blood, Contest Entry, Gore, Hunters, Infected, Left Behind - Freeform, Post-Apocalypse, Short Story, The Last of Us - Freeform, clickers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 18:20:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2238789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockandloadharley/pseuds/lockandloadharley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now instead of the simple worries, such as making sure you don’t sleep through your alarm clock in the morning or doing well in school, you need to look out for the Infected because one slip of the hand—one tiny mistake¬—can cost you everything. You won’t have any worries after that, though, because you won’t mentally be there anymore. You will be one of them.<br/>Only your your mistake wasn't in a fight with the Infected. It was with a teenage girl. </p>
<p>This is a short fan-fiction/tribute for The Last of Us--the video game that I am most passionate about. This follows an event from LEFT BEHIND as one of the hunters who is dead-set on capturing Joel and Ellie in the mall in the dead of winter. Things go awry. </p>
<p>My entry for The Rules of Thoughts contest on Figment! Enjoy and please leave feedback!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shatter

            The winter Coloradan wind bites at your nose and chapped lips as you grip your hunting rifle tightly. Usually you would be just fine using your best friend, El Diablo, but this is a dangerous search. For a man and young girl, to be precise.

            Doesn’t sound too scary, right? Well, according to your leader, they are threatening enough to send fifteen of his men, including you, into this crumbling shopping mall to seek revenge on them for murdering other hunters who belong to your clan. You didn’t really want to go—revenge isn’t your thing—but you are new and need to prove loyalty to the clan.

            You listen to a conversation your teammates are having. They are excited for the turkey that is supposed to be a special dinner tonight once the man and the girl are either caught or killed. Turkey does sound pretty good.

            “Spores,” one man interrupts, pointing ahead, and sure enough the golden particles float in the air. From far away they could easily pass off for the typical dust catching the light, but you have now entered a part of the mall where it’s dark. You pull on your gas mask which is your second best friend besides your gun. “Keep your eyes peeled. Infected could be anywhere and so could the two we’re after. Spread out and make your way towards the center of the mall.”

            Heading deeper in with a few companions, you make your way up a flight of stairs and into a record store. You glance around the room with your gun aimed forward. “I think it’s okay to these off now.”

            As you take your mask off and go to hook it onto your belt, you step backwards and hear the sickening crunch of a bottle that echoes throughout the store. You duck behind an empty CD-stand. It’s funny how some people’s main priority wasn’t hitting up the nearest Costco or Walmart, but grabbing everything except the necessities for surviving in a world disease-and-gang-ridden. Now instead of the simple worries, such as making sure you don’t sleep through your alarm clock in the morning or doing well in school, you need to look out for the Infected because one slip of the hand— _one tiny mistake_ —can cost you  _everything_. You won’t have any worries after that, though, because you won’t mentally be there anymore. You will be one of them.

            A loud clicking followed by snarls comes from in front of you and you feel your heart begin to race—throbbing against the inside of your chest. You point your rifle at them and fire several times. Your aim isn’t the best and they are getting closer to cornering you behind this stand, so you run out the door. The other men with you fire at them as well, one following you out the door. The clicker with its greasy, bloody, horrendously mutated face launches itself at the man who followed you out. The man struggles and you try to aim—but it’s too late. The clicker buries its teeth into his neck. His agonized scream bounces off the walls and even after it dies out you can hear it ringing in your ears, replaying through your mind. The clicker comes after you next and as you go to shoot a stomach-dropping ticking comes from your rifle.  _Empty_.

            It reaches crimson-stained hands towards you and you bend over and quickly swipe a brick off of the cracked linoleum beneath your boots. You swing your arm to throw it, but the clicker falls, pierced by several of your comrade’s bullets.

            “Th-thanks.” You stutter, catching your breath. He nods. There are only two others besides you left from the ambush of Infected.

            “We need to keep searching,” he says, crouching by the corpse of the bit man who you were unable to save, he slips some ammo out of his pocket and hands it to you. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough. You reload your rifle, thanking him again. “Spread out. The center of the mall is close.” 

            You head back into the record shop to search around because it is rather big. It is unlikely that the man or the girl would be hiding in it, though, because of the large amount of Infected that were inside only moments before. It doesn’t hurt to check.

            Stepping behind a shelf, you hear the smashing of glass hitting a hard surface. You look in that direction, pausing a second to listen, before making your way over. Something hard hits your back and you hear the soft grunt that could belong to no other but a girl and you spin around just as she stabs you in the side. Yelping, you fire your rifle, but you miss her by a long shot. She has dark brown hair streaked with golds and caramels and determined jade-colored eyes that make the blood drain from your face. You drop your rifle and dive forward, whipping her around, trying to strangle her, though you drop her when she drives her knife into your wrist and then proceeds to slam all of her weight into your body, sending you crashing to the floor with a painful crack of your shoulder. Her legs straddle your waist as she repeatedly thrusts her blade into you, ignoring your screams, until she deems you no longer a threat.

            You are barely conscious as you feel her searching your pockets for useful things. Huffing, she grabs your rifle and loads it, nodding slowly.

            “Hell yes.” She murmurs, looking over it before slinging it onto her shoulder.

            The flaming pain and quickly-increasing blood loss begins to pull you under a heavy fog of darkness as you lie slumped in a puddle of your own blood. She takes one last glance at you, an expression of hope crossing her face. You hear one last thing before you finally slip away.

            “I’m coming for you, Joel. It’s going to be okay.”

           

**Author's Note:**

> It would mean a lot if you went here: http://figment.com/books/837137-Shatter-The-Last-of-Us-  
> and leave feedback on this story as well, since it is for Figment's The Rule of Thoughts contest. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and also for those who are waiting for Chapter Nine of You Don't Like to Think About That, it will be out soon! I appreciate your support!


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